


merciless miracles

by laughtales



Series: Sylvain Week 2020 [3]
Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Sylvain Week 2020, au where miklan takes sylvain with him when he's disowned to spite their father, day 3: reunion
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-03
Updated: 2020-06-03
Packaged: 2021-03-04 00:20:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,413
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24524494
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/laughtales/pseuds/laughtales
Summary: Six years ago, Miklan took -killed- his best friend in a finalfuck youto his father and Felix has dreamed of getting his revenge ever since.He gets his chance at Conand Tower but a familiar face stands in his way...
Relationships: Felix Hugo Fraldarius/Sylvain Jose Gautier, Sylvain Jose Gautier & Miklan
Series: Sylvain Week 2020 [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1769569
Comments: 8
Kudos: 105





	merciless miracles

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Sylvain Week 2020!
> 
> _Day 3: Reunion_

Sylvain died six years ago.

That’s what he’d been told all those years ago. That Miklan had finally done it and killed the young Gautier heir. It was no secret that Miklan hated his brother and abused him but no one ever thought he’d go that far.

Felix remembers a well and a snowstorm and resents himself for believing Sylvain’s reassurances back then.

He’s despised Miklan as long as he can remember. For the entire time he knew Sylvain, so essentially, his entire life. He hated Miklan with his entire being before he knew what the word meant.

All he knew was that Miklan hurt his best friend. Made him scared to go home, the one place he was supposed to feel safe. Blamed him for things that weren’t his fault and took his anger and frustrations out on a child barely older than Felix himself.

Miklan taught Sylvain how to lie and smile through pain and hurt and suffering.

For thirteen years, Miklan told Sylvain he was hated and worthless and unwanted aside from his crest and name and Sylvain believed him.

And when that wasn’t enough, Miklan killed him in cold blood.

In Felix’s opinion, Miklan should’ve died for it, but instead he had to live with the reality that Miklan was only disowned and was still out there somewhere in the world while Sylvain was cold and dead under frozen earth. 

He and Ingrid and Dimitri went through the hardest years of their lives with a gaping hole in their group.

They grieved for Sylvain, cried for him, got angry at the injustice of his life, and finally, laid him to rest.

That was the last time Felix cried. He shed enough powerless tears that day to drown in. Glenn tried to comfort him but was inexperienced at it and the shattering realization that Sylvain would never wipe his tears and console him again only made him cry harder. And when he was done, he closed his heart and vowed to never shed his tears again.

Then Glenn died. Felix refused to cry, Ingrid withdrew, and something within Dimitri broke irreversibly.

The fragile red threads that held them together finally snapped.

Seeing Ingrid and the Boar at the Officer’s Academy left a bitter taste in his mouth. Both of them acted they weren’t broken, like they weren’t missing a piece of themselves. Like Sylvain’s death hadn’t mattered to them and Glenn died for a noble cause instead of the wretched needless bloodbath the Tragedy actually was.

They hardly spoke to one another. Felix couldn’t stand to look at them. It hurt too much to pretend everything was alright.

But then the Professor informed them House Gautier’s relic had been stolen. By Miklan of all people and their class was tasked with recovering the Lance of Ruin and disposing of the thieves.

For the first time in six years, the three of them had common ground to stand on. A chance at revenge and justice for their old friend. Felix wouldn’t let anyone else end Miklan; he’d be the one to do it and he’d push through anyone that dared to stand in his way.

Because six years ago, Miklan stole his best friend from him after years of hurting him and he’s been dreaming of doing the same to that bastard ever since.

Felix climbs Conand Tower flight by flight, cutting down thieves left and right. His unconstrained fury and thrumming anticipation and his major crest setting his blood alight. Felix storms ahead with Ingrid and Dimitri hot on his heels, leaving a trail of bodies cooling in his wake.

He rounds the final corner to the room at the center of the top floor ready to plunge his sword through Miklan’s throat and comes

face

to

face

with

Sylvain.

Sylvain, who’s supposed to be dead.

Sylvain, who’s six years older and so much bigger than Felix remembers.

Sylvain, who used to be so bright and warm and familiar, is now a distorted shadow of Felix’s best friend with dark eyes and a grim frown.

Sylvain, who could very well be a completely different person wearing Sylvain’s skin, sits in the middle of the room with the Lance of Ruin leaned against his shoulder, basking him an in eerie red glow.

And Miklan, with his vicious grin and disgusting hands – one on Sylvain’s shoulder, takes in Felix and Ingrid and Dimitri frozen ten feet away.

“Would you look at that, Sylvie? It’s your old friends,” Miklan sneers.

Sylvain looks up from the ground and meet Felix’s eyes.

Heartache pangs in his chest.

Sylvain’s droopy hazel eyes, once capable of making the most absurdly adorable and irresistible puppy eyes, are cold. Sad. Dead. Almost unrecognizable.

Almost.

Because there’s a spark that flickers within them when Sylvain sees him, really recognizes him, and he hastily looks away as though the recognition had burned him.

Relief floods his body and he drops his sword ever so slightly because _Sylvain is_ _alive_ and that’s already more of a miracle than he could have ever wished for.

And just as quickly, dread and horror wash over him, chilling him to the core.

Sylvain has been alive the whole time Felix thought he was dead.

He’s been alive.

Alone.

With Miklan.

For six years.

Felix takes a step forward and Sylvain stiffens, his entire body going rigid as a look of anguish passes over his face.

He tenses and then sighs, slipping on an elaborate mask – one of indifference and boredom. Sylvain stands with the Lance of Ruin in hand, twirling it once. “You’re here for this right? Not sure why, it’s eventually supposed to be mine anyway.”

“Not going to catch up? You can, you know. We’ve got all the time in the world before you guys kill each other. Might as well make the most of it,” Miklan taunts, throwing an arm around Sylvain’s shoulders.

Felix grips his sword so tightly in his hand, it shakes and chatters with fury against the stone floor. His jaw clenched so hard, he can taste the metallic tang of iron in his mouth. How badly he wants to rip Miklan limb from limb, carve that arm off his body so he’ll never touch Sylvain again and make him drown in his own blood. Felix has never been one for needless torture, but suffocating with the knowledge of the unimaginable suffering Sylvain has endured at his hands, Felix can’t bring himself to be anything less than cruel and unyieldingly merciless.

He readies his stance, poised to lunge, eyes narrowly focused on the ugly sneer of Miklan’s scarred face.

And then the ground opens beneath him and plunges him into despair.

Sylvain exhales, shrugging the arm off his shoulders, and puts himself between him and Miklan. “No thanks. I’d rather just get this over with.” Sylvain looks at them, posture ready for a fight and eyes focused. “If you’re not fighting to kill, I recommend standing down. Ingrid, get lost. Your hands are already shaking. Your Highness, I’d rather not there be more Blaiddyd blood spilled on these lands.” Sylvain looks to him and smiles, a mockery of the one he’d grown up with. “Felix, I’m surprised you haven’t burst into tears yet. You look like you want to.” Felix dares to hope the sad flicker in his smile isn’t just his imagination.

Felix wants to say something. How relieved he is. How angry he is. How sorry he is. How much he doesn’t want to fight him. How his world was cast in a shadow of grief when he believed Sylvain dead. How he wished every day for his best friend back despite knowing the impossibility of it. How much he missed him and wants him to come back with him.

He doesn’t get to say anything.

Sylvain charges, swinging the Lance of Ruin with intent, Gautier crest flaring in the air and Felix reflexively raises his sword.

The clashing of their weapons sings dissonantly in the air.

Sylvain is within arm’s reach, close enough to whisper words for Felix’s ears alone in the inches between them. His eyes and smile turn soft and sad and it’s every bit the Sylvain from Felix’s memories.

His heart shatters and the shards shred his resolve to tatters. Tears run hot down his cheeks for the first time in six years and Sylvain is here but unable to wipe them away.

“Cut me down, Fe. I’d really rather it be you.”


End file.
